Another Year


I never thought I’d make it to 36. Not that I was ever good enough to die young.  I never developed an interesting drug problem, nor lived too fast. At the same time I never really put much planning into making it all the way to the soft underbelly of middle age.

I told myself last year that now that I was a Dad I would not get too depressed that odds were good I would be the oldest one on any basketball court or dance floor I stepped on to. I would instead embrace adult activities.

But then I realized I had already been doing crossword puzzles in my underwear while listening to music from twenty years ago for years.

Still somehow I kept fighting the war no one ever wins. The one against time.

I am now closer to being 50 than 20. Most of the time I don’t think about it, but as my birthday approached as it did last week, I allowed myself time to feel sorry for myself especially when I stumbled upon a photo of myself when I was a teenager. Sixteen or seventeen with a glazed look in his eyes, bored and frustrated I could barely recognize myself.

Except that I was doing a crossword puzzle in my underwear.



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